Motels
by eyesocketsandsuits
Summary: The girl was tense, Valkyrie could see it in the way she hunched her shoulders and tried to make herself smaller. Two stops ago, for a second, the girl had turned and been about to say something, but it died on her lips and she had sunk into herself.


**I return.**

 **NOTE: This is a crossover with Derek's new book, "Demon Road." Some of the stuff mentioned in the new book seemed to coincide with Skulduggery Pleasant canon, so here we are.**

 **This does not take place after _all_ the events of "Demon Road." It does, however, take place after all the Skulduggery Pleasant books. **

* * *

"What the hell is this?"

Skulduggery looked around him, swinging his shoulders and exaggerating the movement. "America."

"No, I know we're in America. I mean where the hell _are_ we?" Valkyrie refused to place her bags on the ground. There was just no way. "This is a motel," she continued, "like, the ones you see in slasher movies."

"I promise I won't let anyone murder you."

"Why are we at a motel?"

Skulduggery put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. He didn't have much to look at. In fact, he seemed to wilt a little after he got a good look of the place. "You were the one complaining about sleeping in the Bentley."

"We've been driving across this stupid country for _days_." Valkyrie edged closer to the bed. It seemed fake. It seemed like a fake bed. "When I said I wanted to sleep in a bed, I didn't mean…"

Skulduggery gingerly sat down on the bed. She stared at him, horrified.

"I didn't mean _this_ ," she breathed. "That might have bedbugs, you know."

Skulduggery very, very calmly, stood up. "I will remind you this was your idea."

Valkyrie would have raised a finger if she wasn't refusing to place her bags on the sticky ground. "You were getting grumpy, and you're not fun when you're annoyed. You needed to stretch your legs."

The table. Valkyrie settled for the table, hauling her bags up and placing them on the safe, wooden table. There was a little ashtray, a little white plastic sign with the numbers for the front desk, and if everything didn't have a vague layer of grime over it, Valkyrie would have felt a little bad for complaining.

"Free ice," Skulduggery finally decided. "They do have free ice."

"A nice hotel, something with one of those big bathtubs. The Jacuzzi bathtubs."

Skulduggery pulled back the curtain to reveal the gorgeous view of the parking lot and endless skyline of barren fields.

"We're literally in the middle of nowhere. While I always strive for elegance, it was either this place or driving another day or so until we hit a bigger city. Our options were limited as they are disappointed."

Silence fell. Valkyrie listened to a muted conversation in the room next to them. She wasn't sure if it was the television or not.

"I'm getting ice."

Skulduggery nodded distractedly, in the middle of peeling back the bedsheets.

Valkyrie grabbed the ice bucket, opened the door, and stepped out. It was hotter during the day, but now night had brought a sudden chill into the air. She rubbed her hands together, bucket under her arm as she looked around and spotted the ice machine.

The ice machine would not produce ice. Valkyrie hit it a few times, tried again.

"Oh, for God's sake."

There came a rapid fumbling of a door handle, but Valkyrie didn't have time for that. She wanted her free ice.

"Couldn't help but hear your accent."

Valkyrie glanced over her shoulder at the dim, dorky looking guy.

"Mm," she agreed. She pounded her fist against the machine.

The guy wandered closer. "I'm Glen."

"Okay."

"What's your name?"

"Yes."

He looked confused, and he leaned forward, like that might somehow reveal her name. "Sorry?"

"Yes," Valkyrie repeated, a little louder.

Glen nodded. "You don't hear too many other Irish out here. Because we're in the middle of the United States, near the flat parts, you know? I don't really know _where_ we are, but it's on the flat parts. All those states—how is anyone supposed to remember them?" He laughed.

Valkyrie turned, about to tell the guy to screw off unless he knew how to fix ice machines, but she caught sight of something on Glen's palm. Her eyes followed it, and she leaned against the ice machine.

"Is that a tattoo?"

Glen's face froze for a moment, becoming horrified. "No."

Valkyrie tugged down her jacket, giving him the best view she could of her shoulder in the fading light. "I'm not judging you," she said, smiling. "I have a thing for unique tattoo meanings, you know? Your palm though, that's an interesting spot."

Glen curled his fingers around the symbol. "It's Celtic."

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow.

"Not really our Celtic, you know, the Irish Celtic from home, but it's American Celtic. It's a special knot that stands for—for death. Not really death, but something along those lines." Glen looked at his hand like it had betrayed him.

"Glen, your tattoo is swirling."

Another door opened, and Glen whirled around, walking stiffly towards it. "It was great meeting you," he called over his shoulder. "Stay in touch!"

Skulduggery looked up from the bedsheets. "You have failed spectacularly in your quest for ice."

Valkyrie shut the door, walked closer, kept her voice low. "I found something interesting. There's a guy a few doors down, Glen, who has a pretty interesting tattoo."

Skulduggery tilted his head. "Define 'interesting.'"

"Swirly." Valkyrie wiggled her fingers. "China gave me a book of common sigils she and her students use, and poor Glen seems to have a knock-off of one of her death sigils. He's from Ireland too, so small world."

Skulduggery's attention shifted to over Valkyrie's shoulder. "Seems you've picked up a shadow."

Valkyrie nodded, walking over and collapsing on the bed. She ignored her crawling skin, waiting until the silhouette passed by the closed curtains again. Valkyrie pulled out her phone, seeing if they would pass by again.

"We have to help him," Valkyrie muttered. "He probably doesn't even _know_."

"There are bedbugs."

Valkyrie leapt out of the bed, resisting the urge to squeal. Skulduggery laughed, and Valkyrie threw a pillow at him.

 **…**

Valkyrie smiled at the girl. She shot a quick smile back, but her heart wasn't into it. Glen was standing next to her, oblivious, holding various junkfoods in his arms. The Bentley was slowly growing its own collections of soda and crisps.

The girl was tense, Valkyrie could see it in the way she hunched her shoulders and tried to make herself smaller. Two stops ago, for a second, the girl had turned and been about to say something, but it died on her lips and she had sunk into herself.

Glen seems to have forgotten Valkyrie.

Valkyrie nodded along to the song on the radio, mouthing the words. The girl and Glen paid for their stuff and moved off quickly. Valkyrie paid for her water and followed slowly off. The Charger was still trailing wistful stares, the Bentley didn't quite have everyone's full attention.

Valkyrie slid in and they moved off.

"Well, the girl's getting nervous," Valkyrie reported, opening her water.

"So is the driver. If they're heading where I think they're heading, they're taking one of the most convoluted backways to get there. Was there anything unusual about the girl?"

Valkyrie shrugged. "No, she seemed normal. I almost thought she was going to say something to me, once, but she backed down pretty quick. I wonder if they'll stop soon, or just keep trying to lose us. I wonder what they're hiding from."


End file.
